


Prelude to Symphony in (NY) C Major

by suitsflash (bikeross)



Series: Symphony in (NY)C Major [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Barry Allen, Classical Music, F/M, M/M, Music, NYC topography, New York City, One Night Stand, Slash, Symphony - Freeform, Top Oliver Queen, future relationship potential, musical terms, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikeross/pseuds/suitsflash
Summary: A night off of work is not necessarily what Barry Allen wants, it's what he needs. Although, when he goes to a party hosted by the pianist for the Julliard Symphony Orchestra, he manages to find something he wants. Or rather. Someone he wants.





	Prelude to Symphony in (NY) C Major

**Author's Note:**

> This is the precursor to a much larger passion project I have which will tie in most of the characters introduced in a DC canon. This is the piece that sets everything else in motion--the prelude before the larger symphony. 
> 
> I'm not a music student, so all mistakes in that are my own. If anyone would like to be a classical music consultant, please let me know. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr, I'm brooklyn1949
> 
> ALSO a huge thank you to Amie and Pixi for the beta reads <3 thank you.

The streets of New York always bustle with millions of people. Every single one has a story. Every person is one single note or accidental in the tightly composed symphony of the city. Even the cars move with a rhythm and elegance. The honking cars provide the horn section—the footfalls of each pedestrian the rhythm. As the trains rush along the tracks in precise harmony, they provide the strings. Ever playing—ever moving.

When people speak on the phone they provide the melodious six part harmony of the choir, bringing the music of the city to life.

Traveling down the length of the island—the smooth grid lines, the precise movements are stripped away. The streets narrow out and begin to spiderweb, playing their own kind of music. Improvising, but still telling a story. A story of soul, a story with heart. This is the jazz portion of New York—the area that follows its own rhythm. 

Barry Allen called this area of the city home. An NYU student, he spent his days in classes studying to complete his Theater and Music major at the Tisch School of Arts. His nights were spent as a combination of waiter and jazz singer at his friend’s nightclub in the Lower East Side.

He worked hard, almost too hard. His adoptive father Joe was in a perpetual state of concern that Barry had forgotten to become a person. But Barry had always shied away from that, focusing on his work. With Joe paying for college, it was the least Barry could do (in his own mind), to finish as soon as possible.

It was at the insistence of his boss, Leonard Snart, that Barry found himself without a shift one weekend.

“I don’t need a half dead zombie to serve customers drinks.” Snart shook his head.

Barry’s eyebrows knitted together as he tried to come up with some reason he could stay. He had nothing else to do, and he didn’t want to owe Joe anything for university.

“Listen Scarlet,” Snart told him, using the nickname Barry had earned when he wore all red to his audition for the club. Len leaned over the bar,. “You’re not scheduled tonight, and as much as I _love_ paying you overtime, there’s a new singer starting tonight and we’re overstaffed on waiters. So take the night off.” He said. “Plus you look like you could loosen up a bit.”

Shaking his head, Barry looked up at Len. “Listen, I really don’t have anything to do, I could cover for anyone who wants the night off?”

Len shook his head. “Out of the question. Now leave or else I might give away your shift tomorrow night too.” 

“Ugh fine, I’m going, I’m going!” Barry huffed and grabbed his coat before pulling out his phone to text his best friend and adoptive sister, Iris West.

>> Apparently my shift disappeared.  
>>What are you up to?

>> OMG BARR. Okay. One of the musicians in the orchestra is throwing a party. You’re coming with.

>> Ugh no. Hard pass. Maybe I’ll start go working on my thesis project

>>No you’re not. You’re coming with me. You still haven’t met the rest of the ensemble!

>>I know you.

>> One isn’t enough Barr.

>> But

>> No.

>>Iris.

>> no

>> UGH you’re the worst. :(

>> Get your ass on the D train and head up to Lincoln Center. The party is a ten minute walk, I’ll send you the address.

With a groan, Barry pocketed his phone and exited the bar. He put his earbuds in either ear and began playing the music for his latest setlist, humming along as he headed to the station.  
  
When he was on the platform, Barry texted Iris. 

>> Waiting for the D.

>> When are you not?

>> Ha. Ha.

>> :P

>> I could go home.

>> Nooooooooo

>> Fine you win. See you soon Barr.

Twenty minutes later, Barry arrived at the building the party was going to be held in. Iris waited outside for him, arms wrapped around herself to keep out the cold. She brightened immediately when she saw Barry, rushing forward to pull him into a hug before turning to head inside.

“Seriously Iris, these are the people you party with?” Barry asked as they stepped into the lobby of the elegantly appointed luxury apartment building. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling where a mosaic lion greeted him. He shifted his gaze to the ground, feeling like the green marble was judging his converses with every single reasonably priced step.

She laughed and glanced to him, expression sympathetic. “I know right? This is one of the places I’m pretty sure I couldn’t even think about affording. Sometimes I’m really glad we still live with dad.” 

Barry laughed. “Me too. 1500 dollars on a living space smaller than a countertop? No thank you.”

They took the elevator up to the top floor. Apparently this was one of the apartments with a private elevator that opened _into_ someone’s apartment. Barry wondered when doors became too much work.

“So who’s even hosting the party?” Barry asked, leaning back against the rail of the elevator.

“Oliver Queen, he’s our pianist,” Iris said as she checked her phone.

Barry nodded. “I’m guessing he’s not living here on his own salary.”

Iris looked up at Barry. “You don’t know who Oliver _Queen_ is?” She asked. “He’s like classical musician royalty. Like, the man can play anything on piano. He’s Moira Queen’s son. The pianist for the New York Philharmonic for the past like twenty years—ish?” She said when the elevator doors opened.

Barry stepped into a lobby and blanched at the insane display of wealth. He hadn’t seen any apartment quite like it. People milled about in the sunken living room, drinks in their hand. And there was a legitimate actual swear to God bartender.

His eyes widened and he looked at Iris.

“I know right? Aren’t you glad I dragged you here?” She asked, smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Barry honestly didn’t know how to answer the question. He felt immediately out of place. This wasn’t just any college party he’d ever been to. There wasn’t a keg in the middle, there were no red solo cups, there wasn’t a school provided table turned into a makeshift beer pong board. Everyone seemed too dressed up and classy for that.

Instead of the people on the balcony smoking weed, there were people in the corner that were surrounding a person with some white powder, arranging it into lines.

He wondered idly what they were doing and decided he didn’t really want to know the answer before he made a beeline for the bar.

Might as well not be completely sober for whatever this was.

Soon Iris had found her fellow violinists and Barry was content to stand, leaned against the bar, looking around the party, trying to figure out how long was polite to stay before he could politely excuse himself and go home. (There totally wasn’t a google search on his phone <<When to leave a party and not be rude.>>)

“The nerve of some people,” a voice said on Barry’s left.

Barry hadn’t realized he’d been staring intently at the people snorting white powder.

He shook his head. “Um…yeah, it’s like they don’t have anything better to do than doing drugs in some rich guy’s living room. Probably all pretty well off too,” Barry mused, sipping his drink.

The man next to him chuckled and Barry took that opportunity to get a good look at him.

And boy was Barry glad he waited until he wasn’t sipping his drink, (cause he didn’t need to experience vodka up the nose--for the fourth time), because this guy was fucking _gorgeous._ His eyes were a striking blue and pierced directly into Barry’s soul. The man had a well trimmed and managed scruff lining his jaw, and his hair was blond, perfectly shaped. He was _most definitely_ the most beautiful man Barry had ever seen.

“Definitely. I hate those kinds of people,” the man said. 

Barry nodded emphatically. “How much you wanna bet Oliver is one of those people?” He asked, lips curving up into a slight smile.

“Oh I don’t know, I think Oliver is the type that would stay out of that nowadays,” the handsome man said, the corners of his lips pulling into a bemused smirk--his voice airy.

But Barry continued on his rant. “I mean, these people have so much _privilege,_ it’s just not fair. I can barely pay for one year of college out of pocket and I work eighty hours a week and these people are just sitting there doing god knows what. And then you have people like Oliver Queen who’s throwing these parties. Just like enabling this kind of behavior.”

He remained silent and allowed Barry to continue, making no move to leave. The corners of the man’s lips curled up minutely in amusement.

“Anyways I don’t think I got your name.” Barry said, holding out his hand.

The man reached out to shake Barry’s hand. “Oliver Queen,” he said, his expression shifting into that of a cat who had just eaten the canary.

Barry’s cheeks lost all color almost immediately. He looked up at Oliver and then back where Iris was standing talking to a blond man.

She was definitely way too busy to bail him out of this one--no matter how many mental SOS calls he sent. He downed his drink before it was promptly replaced with another gin and tonic.   

“I am—-so sorry,” he said once he’d regained the courage to speak. 

“What, sorry you said it, or sorry you got caught?” Oliver asked barely able to manage the bright smile on his face.

Barry huffed. He stared down at his drink as he tried to come up with something, _anything_ , to say. “Look, why don’t we start over? I’m Barry Allen and I’m the biggest idiot alive,” he said.

Oliver shook his head. “No you have a point,” he said. “I asked Wilson to take the drugs out of my house, but it looks like he’s decided to ignore me. So instead of letting my blood pressure rise, I’m just going to stand here, looking at someone who doesn’t make my blood boil. At _least_ not in the same way.”

Barry felt Oliver’s eyes fixated on him, even when he was turning to sip his drink. He didn’t know how he felt about the extra attention from the host. But he did know one thing; he was buzzed. Not necessarily from the four sips of his drink. Okay, maybe it was the alcohol, but also--Oliver was really hot.

“I never know what to do at parties,” Oliver admitted. He pursed his lips and turned to face Barry, leaning on his side against the bar.

“Me neither,” Barry said. “Well besides insulting the host and ripping his friends apart.”

Oliver shook his head. “Those aren’t my friends.”.

Barry’s eyebrows furrowed together as he regarded Oliver, eyebrows arched in surprise. “They’re not?”

Oliver sighed. “They were. Once. But that was in high school. Honestly, I’m setting my sights on new goals,” he said. “New people.”

Barry chuckled. “Yeah? What do you plan to do when you’ve met a new person?”

“I dunno but fucking them into my mattress seems like a good idea. Especially when they’re a hot guy from Park Slope.”

Barry turned his head so fast he was experiencing whiplash. His eyes widened. No one had ever been that flat out—he didn’t even know how to describe it— _forward with him._

 _“_ Are you hitting on me?”

“Well if you’re asking, I’m doing a pretty shitty job,” Oliver replied, inspecting the bottom of his now empty glass.

Water. Barry needed water. A lot of water to replenish himself. Because all of the water in his body had shriveled up and his mouth felt like a hundred cotton balls had taken up residence. Taking a deep breath, he looked over at Oliver and blinked over and over again.

“I mean…yeah,” he said after a few seconds and he was sure he could breathe again. “Wait...how did you know I’m from Park Slope?”

“You walked in with Iris, I assume you’re her brother?”

Barry nodded, still trying to collect himself. This was-- _completely_ new.

“So what do you say we take this somewhere more private?” Oliver asked, turning so that his side was pressed up against Barry’s. He leaned over his lips close to Barry’s ear, voice lowering to a whisper, his warm breath tickling his earlobe. “You know my bedroom is right down that hallway and around the corner…”

Oliver winked,  turned around and headed that way, determined.

Barry looked for Iris. She was busy kissing the blond guy on the couch. Both of them giggled as they made out like teenagers hopelessly smitten with one another. She was definitely not a good source of wisdom and guidance right now, and Barry didn’t exactly feel like an intrusion about his _own_ romantic prospects would be welcomed with open arms.

So Barry had to trust his instinct. Downing the rest of his drink, he took a deep breath before deciding to take Len’s words from earlier that day to heart. It was true, he was a zombie. It was high time he lived a little.

He stepped into the hallway and Oliver was waiting around the corner to pull Barry into a kiss, making him let out a surprised noise against his lips. Their lips crashed together as the older man pushed him against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip Barry’s hips. “God you’re so cute,” he murmured, kissing down Barry’s jaw to his shoulder.

Barry gasped and closed his eyes, his hand carding through the back of Oliver’s close cropped hair. A small moan emerged from his lips when Barry felt Oliver’s erection pressing up against his own.

Oliver groaned at the noise, taking a step back and looking at Barry. “Are you okay with this?”

Barry nodded, his eyes focused on Oliver.

He didn’t really know how they got there. One minute Barry was insulting Oliver’s entire way of life, and the next they were basically dry humping against Oliver’s wall.

“Someone might see,” Barry murmured. His hand snaked around the back of Oliver’s neck and he leaned forward to kiss him again.

They were fairly similar in height—if anything, Barry noted that he probably had a few inches on Oliver. But Oliver was definitely taking the lead on this one.

“Are you clean?” Oliver asked.

Barry nodded. “I am…I’ve been tested.”

Oliver nodded, cupping his cheek. “Me too.”

“So we’re doing this?” Barry asked. “Here?” His voice cracked, the last word said almost an octave higher. A blush crept up Barry’s cheeks. He looked at Oliver who returned his gaze with an intense expression.

Honestly he hadn’t felt this much desire for someone after first meeting them. Like, _ever_. Sure he’d always had a crush on Iris, but this—this was passion. This was a duet, Oliver and Barry both combining to create a perfect harmony.

They walked down the hall, still practically glued to each other, moving from one wall to the other, taking turns pinning each other against it, finally stopping at the end. Barry was grateful that the hallway remained empty the entire time.

Barry wondered if any of the other partygoers would have ended up back here if Oliver hadn’t chosen him, or if the older man had intended to hook up tonight at all.

The door opened into a room that was much bigger than the first floor of Joe’s Brooklyn Brownstone, but Barry had barely enough time to regard the room’s furnishings before Oliver’s lips met his again. This time the kiss was softer, more gentle.

“So…what are we doing?” Oliver asked, a small hint of a smile settling across his face. 

Barry blinked at Oliver. “Hooking up at a party?” He stepped away from Oliver for a second. 

Oliver nodded, a smile barely reaching his eyes.

“Okay,” he said. 

“It’s just…I don’t have time right now for a relationship,” Barry admitted. “And I mean, you’ve probably got hours of practicing to do….so it wouldn’t make any sense to make things more complicated, right?”

Oliver nodded. “I can see the logic behind that.” He stepped forward and cupped Barry’s cheeks before kissing him again, deepening it almost immediately. This time the heat was more immediate. 

No one could walk in on them now. It was just Oliver and Barry—their own private duet.

Barry parted his lips when Oliver licked along his bottom lip. His fingertips began moving to Oliver’s shirt buttons, slowly undoing one by one, making sure that he didn’t actually ruin anything. He noted with glee that Oliver hadn’t worn anything underneath so it was just a beautifully sculpted body. The room was too dark for him to see the details, so he began mapping it out, his lips tracing a line down Oliver’s jaw down to his shoulder. He let the shirt fall off and puddle onto the floor. 

He took his sweet time, feeling Oliver’s eyes boring into him when he dropped down to his knees. Looking up at him,  Barry’s fingers moved to the pianist’s belt buckle. 

Taking a deep breath, he cocked his head - a silent request for permission. Oliver nodded in response.

A grin crossed Barry’s face and he made quick work to divest Oliver of his pants. Curling his fingers around the waistband of Oliver’s boxers, Barry dragged the pair down before he curled his fingers around Oliver’s ass. He felt the sculpted muscle and dragged his blunt fingernails up, settling on his lower back before he kissed the head of Oliver’s cock. 

He tongued the frenulum, his lips laving down the sensitive base, eliciting a grunt from above. Barry smiled. He definitely had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He slowly ran his tongue over Oliver’s cock, mapping it, exploring. Where Barry’s was longer, Oliver’s was thick. He was sensitive near the head and underneath.

Taking a deep breath, Barry looked up at Oliver and stood. He kissed him again before pushing Oliver down on the bed, taking his own shirt off and straddling him, nuzzling his scruff as he attempted to compose himself.

When Barry leaned back, Oliver dragged Barry’s sweater over his head and threw it. He made quick work of the buttons on Barry’s shirt and then tossed it to the side to join the ever growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

Barry closed his eyes and gasped when Oliver’s tongue began swirling around his nipple. Oliver’s beard left a line of red wherever Oliver laved his tongue.

“Sensitive?” Oliver asked, his expression soft--but a devilish smirk still visible in the crinkles of his eyes.

Barry nodded, his breathing quickening.

Wrapping his arms around the base of Barry’s spine, Oliver flipped them over so that Barry was beneath him on the bed and Oliver dropped his hips to grind with Barry’s.

His cock was trapped by his jeans, almost painful from need. Barry whimpered, his body alight with sensations, nerves overloaded. He helped Oliver take off his jeans and wiggled out of them, pulling off his socks at the same time and tossing everything over the edge of the bed, gazing up at Oliver.

Oliver cupped his cheek and his expression was soft as he leaned down to press kisses to Barry’s neck.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hand drifting down to Barry’s cock. After working his hand up and down a few times along the shaft, Oliver began kissing back down Barry’s body, focusing on the line of his sternum down to his belly button. He licked a trail down from his belly button to his cock, wrapping his lips around the head before taking him down. Oliver’s hand began to tease Barry’s balls and Barry threw his head back in sensory overload.

Crying out, Barry leaned back into the pillow, his spine arching up and off of the bed. His hands carded through Oliver’s hair and he bit his lower lip, trying to keep his volume under control. And then Oliver stopped, mouth coming off of him with a pop as he lifted his head.

Reaching into the nightstand next to Barry’s head, Oliver pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube.He uncapped he bottle and squeezed some out onto his fingers, coating two of them. He looked down at Barry, his eyes dark and full of need.

“Is this okay?” He asked, his other hand moving up Barry’s thigh.

Barry nodded, his breathing beginning to even out. “Yeah…I want you.” His voice was breathless, words emerging from his lips barely above a hoarse whisper. “Fuck me Oliver.”

Oliver’s lips turned up into a smirk and he dipped his head down to kiss Barry’s hip. As he licked the underside of Barry’s cock, he pushed his lubed finger into him. Barry released astrangled cry.

“The sounds you make should be illegal,” Oliver murmured.

“Th- that’d be awkward to enforce.” Barry said, taking a deep breath. Closing his eyes, Barry released a stuttered gasp, wincing as he acclimated. It’d been entirely far too long, but Barry forgot how much he missed the feeling of being open for someone else.

He nodded when he’d fully adjusted to Oliver’s finger. “M-ore,” he said, hips stuttering. 

Oliver released a breathy chuckle. “Needy.”. He cupped Barry’s cheek, leaning forward as he pressed a second finger beside the first, scissoring them. “You’re so tight, You’re going to have to be patient. Don’t want to hurt you” he murmured.

At that, Barry released a throaty chuckle. “Fine,” he said. “If you’re going to be perfectly rational. I guess that makes sense.” But he allowed his body to sink into the sensations that Oliver’s practiced fingers brought out. Barry could definitely tell he was a concert pianist. “Playing me like one of your instruments?”

Oliver merely smiled in response. “Careful, you’re so mouthy. Might have to find a way to put your mouth to better use next time.”

Snapping his jaws shut, Barry smirked, imagining what Oliver could have meant by that. He had a feeling that Oliver liked to do things a certain way and he didn’t change his routine for anyone. Though that thought soon escaped his mind as Oliver’s fingers found that one magical spot. He exhaled and a series of moans and breathy gasps emerged from his lips, matching Oliver’s grunts--a two part harmony.

“How do you feel? Ready for me?” Oliver asked, lips moving to Barry’s neck to press feather light kisses. 

“I’m ready.” 

Oliver nodded and pulled out, resulting in a slight yelp from Barry. The corners of Oliver’s mouth quirked up in a smile as he moved to his dresser drawer. He grabbed for his supplies blindly, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. He then positioned himself over Barry, and show-off that he was, used his teeth to tear open the foil packet before taking out the condom. He rolled it over himself and began working his cock before positioning himself over Barry.

Shoving a pillow underneath his back so his hips were tilted up, Barry nodded. 

Oliver’s fingertips traveled up Barry’s thigh, pushing it so that it was bent over his body, knee touching his chest. When Barry moved to help him, Oliver tut tutted and shook his head. Barry was his instrument to play tonight, and Oliver’s deft hands would make music. Holding himself steady, Oliver positioned his length at Barry’s puckered entrance and began short and shallow thrusts. Letting Barry adjust to his girth.  
  
With a sharp hiss, Barry closed his eyes, his body fluttering open to accept Oliver. Of course the stretch was slightly greater than his fingers, but the sharp initial pain soon gave way to pleasure as Barry closed his eyes and allowed Oliver to slowly bottom out.

After a few seconds--or minutes--who knew how much time was passing now anyways, Barry’s cries evened out as he adjusted to the stretch.

“Oliver--p-please move,” Barry said, his nods becoming more and more erratic as their movements began into a sharp crescendo, their sounds becoming less and less coherent and more discordant.

Shifting positions, Barry wrapped his legs around the other man’s hips and met each thrust. This was a different kind of piece. A fusion of what they knew. Classical meets Jazz. A rhapsody. Oliver’s precise and deliberate movements met Barry’s unpredictable ones and created a sound that was unlike any other before it. As they fucked, they became one harmony, moving in tandem to write their own sonata.

As though they were completely in sync, they released at the same time, Oliver’s hand working Barry’s cock through the orgasm. Then began the decrescendo, the denouement of the piece, their movements shifting from harmony back into a melody line, Oliver and Barry’s movements together. And then, the final rest, as they stilled together, their lips finally connecting in a final note.

 When they were both finished, Oliver pulled out and got up to go to the bathroom. Barry assumed it was to dispose of the condom, but Oliver returned with a warm, damp washcloth, cleaning Barry off. He tossed the towel into his hamper and then lay down in bed next to Barry.

“Do you want to stay?” He asked.

“Yeah it’s gonna be a bitch to get back to Brooklyn this time of night,” Barry responded, closing his eyes. He turned to lay on his side. “Hope you’re okay with that.”

Oliver slung an arm around Barry’s waist while  Barry’s breathing evened out. .

“Yeah. I think I am,” Oliver said.

Barry sighed. He hoped that whatever-- _this_ was. It wouldn’t get too complicated.

 


End file.
